Slow Like Honey
by tardisblues
Summary: He shouldn't be so flustered by the situation, by her, but he is and silently, he curses it.


**A/N: **I have no idea what this is. I just wanted to do a fic where there was sexy touching and nothing else so yeah, that's what this is!

The title is work is taken from the Fiona Apple song of the same name. You should listen to it while you read because it sets help the mood. All right, enjoy!

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><p><strong>Slow Like Honey<strong>

"No, no, no," scolds Korra from her perch. "You're doing it all wrong." She hops down, her feet landing with a soft _thunk_ on the gymnasium floor, her steps a whisper on the mesh of the mat.

Frustration tensing his body, Mako looks over his shoulder at the sound of her approach and frowns. He didn't ask her to sit in on his practice, but she insisted, saying something about cooperation and understanding. It's all a load of bison dung. She can act like she cares about the team now, but eventually she'll get annoyed or too cocky and leave.

They always do.

Pushing the unpleasant notion out of his mind, Mako rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I'm doing it right," he replies, a bitter edge to his words. "This is how I've been doing it my entire life."

"Then I hate to break it to you, but you've been doing it wrong for eighteen years."

"Nineteen," he corrects sharply, annoyed by the surprised look that flits across her face. However, it's gone before he can contemplate it any further, replaced by the smug set of her lips and the arrogant twinkle in her clear blue eyes. Shaking his head, he let his arms drop to his sides. His body is still tense, but he's always tense, like a string pulled taut, waiting for an instant where the pressure is too much and he snaps. "And I wasn't aware that I asked for your help."

"You didn't," Korra says without blinking. She folds her arms over her chest and plants her feet a shoulders width apart, looking every bit the finely muscled, intimidating bender that she is. However, her expression is a contradiction, oddly soft yet not yielding. "But we're teammates now and if we're going to win – and I'm assuming that's what you want, despite your track record" (he pulls a face) "– we have to understand each other." At the doubtful look on his face, she quickly adds, "Well, at least understand each other's bending. And you – you're doing it wrong."

He bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something he'll regret later. More often than not, his temper tends to get away from him and this cannot be one of those times. There's too much riding on the next match. If they don't win, he and Bolin will be out of a home, out of food, and out of luck. He can't let that happen again.

Not after he assured Toza that he could handle it.

So he swallows his callous remark as well as his pride and tilts his chin in defiance. "I might not be doing it right by _your_ standards, but this is how I learned." His shoulders stiffen as he places a hand on his hip, his thumb hooking through the belt loop reflexively. "It's what I'm comfortable with."

Taking a swaggering step towards him, Korra raises an eyebrow. "Are you really that scared of trying something new?" Her voice is teasing, her face alight with a childish glee. She's baiting him and unfortunately, he can't help but rise to it.

"I'm not _scared_ of trying new things," Mako retorts, straightening his back and looking down the bridge of his nose at her, all of the contempt in the world resting on his brow. "And it's not about that anyway. Like you said, we're a team now. We have to understand each other and that means adapting to the other's bending, not trying to _change_ it to better suit your own motivations."

Korra scoffs at his accusation, offended. "That's _not _what I'm trying to do!" She knows he's not her biggest fan, but she had no idea he thinks so lowly of her. Sure, she can be a little (really) pushy and tends to talk over others just to make sure she's heard, but she means well. Honestly. All she wants is for the brothers to achieve the success that they deserve.

"Really? Because that's what it seems like to me."

"Well it's not." Hurt flashes in her eyes, brief, but apparent, and it doesn't startle him so much as it makes him rethink his words. "I'm only trying to help you out, okay?"

He stares at her hard for a prolonged moment, wishing he could shake her or slap her or maybe kiss her. It doesn't make sense, but from what he's learned so far about Korra, nothing concerning her ever does. She has a way of flipping the world as he knows it upside down and causing so much chaos it makes his ears burn and his head hurt. But then the world is suddenly put back on its axis before he can really understand what's just happened and somehow, there's a bitter mixture of anger and bemusement on the tip of his tongue.

"Look," Korra continues, raising a hand to comb her fingers through her hair. Her knuckles catch in her ponytail and she grimaces, tugging as she talks. "I know how much these matches mean to you, and I also know how tough your competition is. You guys are good, really, you are," she insists at his look. "You're just not there yet."

Mako's silent for a moment, though his eyes speak volumes as they search her face. She knows his question before he even asks it; she bites back a groan. "How do you know that? We've been having really shitty luck lately and –"

"Just trust me, Mako," Korra implores, pinning him with a look. "Can you do that?"

He pulls another one of his faces, his features scrunching up just as they always do when he's about to say something particularly snarky. "Is it because you're the Avatar?" The condescension in his voice is almost overpowered by the sarcasm, but not quite.

It makes her want to ball her fists and stomp her feet and _throttle_ him until that stupid look is wiped clean off his irritating face, but she refrains, pulling in a deep breath through her nose. She can do this. She's bigger than the petulance he's baiting her with. Expelling a short sigh, she readjusts her arms over her chest and nods. "Yes, actually, it is," she says.

Both of Mako's dark eyebrows rise so high on his forehead, they almost disappear into his hairline. "Really?" A smirk quirks at the left corner of his mouth. "Do tell."

She grits her teeth, reminding herself of the importance of remaining calm, even if it is exceedingly difficult to do in his presence. "Well," she begins, a little hesitant if only because of the weight of his stare. "As the Avatar, I have to understand the balance between the four elements and how to wield them accordingly. Because that's what it's all about, right? Not just being the Avatar, but being on a team – it's about finding that balance so we can work together in harmony successfully."

Korra can tell by the look on his face that she's got him. His eyes go a little wide and his mouth parts only slightly, just enough that she can see the tip of his tongue pressing into the back of his top teeth, like he's trying to think of something to say, but can't. Leaning back on her heels, she savors the moment, taking a mental picture of his dumbfounded expression. Bolin will _love_ hearing about this one.

The thrill of victory is too much and Korra allows herself a small smile. It's fun, watching him squirm – the stoic boy who has a clever retort to everything is at a complete loss for words. And it's all because of her. The smile threatens to grow, even though she's biting on the inside of her cheek to contain it. This is just _too_ much.

Then Mako sighs, long and hard, obviously pained by the outcome. She's won, and he can't stand it. The natural competitor in him can't stand it. "Okay," he grumbles, his disdain and disappointment (mostly in himself for not coming up with a counter argument) evident in his voice. "You're right."

Even though he's begrudged to admit it, pride soars through Korra, but she does her best not to gloat, if only because she's only just gotten him to agree with her and doesn't want to go all the way back to square one. They have an annoying habit of doing this, building up progress and then knocking it down with one swift blow, essentially burning the bridges they've built. It's annoying and frustrating, and quite frankly Korra's over with it. Friendship might not be on the table at the moment, but they _have_ to get over this…whatever it is between them, and she thinks today might be the day.

Emphasis on the 'might'.

"Say again?"

His lips purse and his tone is flat when he says, "You're right. We do need to work in harmony and who knows harmony better than the fuc-"

"Okay, okay, enough gloating on my part," Korra says, holding up her hands before he can cuss her out. It didn't take her long to learn that he has _quite_ the mouth on him, especially when he doesn't get his way.

Mako looks like he's grinding rocks into gravel, that's how hard his jaw is locked. One of his eyebrows cocks as he regards her coolly. "So are we going to do this or not?"

"I don't know," she answers, jutting out her hip and planting a hand on its curve. "Are you going to cooperate with me?"

He runs his tongue along his teeth. "Depends."

"On?"

"You can't tell Bolin about this – any of it," he adds once she opens her mouth.

She frowns, her brow furrowing and her shoulders drooping forwards slightly. "Why not? Don't you want him to know that we've finally put aside our differences and are working together?"

"No," Mako responds so quickly, Korra's taken aback. At her questioning look, he continues, the tips of his ears turning just a little pink, "I don't want to listen to his 'I told you so's. You know how unbearable they can be."

Surprised by his answer, Korra laughs. "Yeah," she agrees, with a trailing chuckle. "I do. But that's all a part of his charm, isn't it?" She smiles, resisting the urge to dig her elbow into his ribs.

Mako snorts. "If you say so."

A beat of painfully awkward silence passes between them as each waits for the other to make the first move. This isn't the first time they've been alone together. It's not even the first time that they've bended together, having attempted this very same thing only a few weeks ago. However, Bolin was presence last time and had kept the peace between them when Korra bended a rock at the back of Mako's head. It didn't do _that_ much damage, though the way Mako went off, one would've thought she'd blown a hole the size of her fist in his skull.

With an extravagant roll of her eyes, Korra breaks the silence. "Okay," she says, dropping her hands and swinging them forwards to clap them together. The sound is sharp and echoes throughout the gym. "Why don't you get into your bending stance and I can show you what's wrong?"

He sends her one of his looks and she sighs. _What a baby. _

She tries again, not for the first time wondering why he's so damn difficult. "Fine, I'll rephrase that. Why don't you get into your bending stance, Mako, so I can show you a way that might help improve your technique?" The smile she sends him is tight and sarcastic, and she can see a wry appreciation in his eyes. "Is that sweet enough for you, Flame-o?"

Mako lifts a noncommittal shoulder in a lazy shrug, which is equal parts charming and goofy. "I don't know. I don't feel the twinge of a cavity yet."

Laughing, Korra moves to punch his arm, but he rolls his shoulder away and brings his other arm up, blocking her with his forearm and using her force to divert the punch to the side. "Someone's feisty, I see," she comments drily, shuffling just a few paces away from him.

"You have no idea," he mumbles under his breath, shooting her a look out of the corner of his eye.

It feels weird, being instructed to do something that comes so naturally to him. He tries to tell himself that the only reason there's worry nipping at the lining of his stomach is because he's concerned that she'll criticize him too much, but he's used to that. No, the real reason why he's worried is because she's the Avatar, trained by the best of the best, and he's nothing but a street rat, forced to teach himself or else learn from the fights that take place in the various alleyways. It's different when they're in the ring together, fighting under the eye of the public. There's no clear cut explanation, but he's always able to tune everyone else out and focus on the fight at hand. But now that it's just the two of them alone in the gymnasium, the only sound the faint hum of the overhead lights, he feels uncertain, like he's about to reveal a part of himself that only he knows, a part of himself that only he fully understands.

He can deal with criticisms and harsh words, but Mako isn't sure that he can handle her breaking down his very essence, telling him that he's entirely wrong, that everything that makes him who he is, is wrong.

"I'm ready whenever you are," Korra says from her position on the edge of the mat. Once again, she's got her arms folded over her chest and a smug smile on her face, but it's not a gloating smile. In fact, there's something slightly encouraging in the dimple of her cheek and the blue of her eyes.

Still, Mako is uneasy. He hates feeling vulnerable, he hates letting his guard down, and that's exactly what she's asking him to do. Mako licks his lips and shakes out his limbs, trying to rid them of unnecessary tension and failing miserably. The fact is that he _is_ tense and it's all her fault. There's no way he can relax when she's asking something so personal of him.

Inhaling deeply, Mako closes his eyes and _feels_- the atmosphere, the room, his own emotions. They wash over his skin, settling on the surface but not quite sinking in. He adapts to them, equates them in and then cancels them out until he's part of the whole yet completely separate from it at the same time.

With a tightly controlled ease (what an oxymoron), he slips into his bending stance. It's natural, but rigid, and Korra sees the problem almost at once.

"You're too tense," she says abruptly. Her voice is a jolt, roughly pulling him out of the manufactured calm and setting his nerves alight with irritation.

His eyes snap open and he pivots, glaring at her over his shoulder. "I am _not_," he grunts. Annoyed, Mako moves to drop his stance, but she throws her hands up.

"No, no! Don't move!" Korra exclaims, pushing away from the wall and hurrying over to him. "Hold your stance!"

Mako sighs heavily, making a show of rolling his eyes before resuming his previous stance. He pins her with a look of poorly suppressed exasperation as she approaches, her ponytail swinging effortlessly, almost mocking him, but then he sees the inscrutable expression on her face and his panic flares. His stomach turns and the sharp, bitter taste of bile leaps up his throat, tainting his tongue, and he feels like he's going to be sick.

Maybe he's making a bigger deal out of this than needs to be made, but Mako likes being the only one who understands how he bends, and he doesn't need anyone telling him that he's doing it wrong because to him, it's not wrong. It's an extension of himself, his bending is, and having someone tell him that what he's doing is wrong, having someone _correct_ it is like someone ripping open his ribcage and poking at his innards, telling him that its wrong, all of it, all of _him_.

Exposed isn't the precise word he's looking for, but it's accurate enough.

"Oh, stop pouting, Flame-o," Korra quips as she draws up to him, standing just a few feet away. "It's not cute."

He doesn't say anything, merely narrows his eyes into slits as he watches her watch him. It's more than a little unnerving, but he schools his features into an expressionless mask.

Korra's brow furrows as her gaze moves over his form painstakingly slow, like a rake through hot coals. She takes in the cords of muscle beneath his skin and the way the light glints off the faint sheen of sweat coating his body. She searches for the source of tension that's got him wound tighter than even the most coiled spring, her gaze passing over the broad expanse of his shoulders, grazing over the hard cut of his clavicle and the mole that marks the hollow, and traveling downwards until she stops at his navel, around which his abdominal muscles expand and contract with each breath he takes, creating a pleasant rippling effect.

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Korra takes a step forward, but hesitates, not quite lifting her arms from her side as she asks, "May I?"

He appreciates her question, mostly because she's asking him if it's okay rather than just assuming it is as she's prone to do. Mako nods stiffly, his lips pressing into a thin line as she steps towards him. The hesitation she displays is bizarre; he's never seen her approach anything with such caution. Though caustic worry is still running rampant through his veins, he relaxes – but only a little.

"Your shoulders are really tight," Korra observes as she places a hand on the joint. There's no spark of electricity. His stomach doesn't tighten and he doesn't flinch because there's nothing to flinch about. The weight of her hand is warm, a comfort even, as her fingers mold to the curve of his shoulder. He can feel the calluses on the knots of her knuckles as she passes her hand over his flesh. "You've got a lot of knots," she says, her thumb absently tracing circles into his skin. The heat is nice, pleasant even, and Mako does his best not to roll his shoulder into her palm when her fingers tightened. "Like this one right here."

With the pad of her thumb, she presses down on the knot, hard, but not ungentle, and it strikes a nerve. His eyes widen and his moth falls open, a low moan slipping out of his lips before he can stop it. A soft chuckle escapes her. "What was that you were saying about not being tense?" Mako doesn't have to look at her to know she's smiling that insufferable grin, so he closes his eyes instead, enjoying the painful yet oddly relaxing way her fingers dig into his muscles, grinding against the knot and then smoothing it out.

"You carry a lot of tension." Her thumb dips lower, ghosting over the top of his shoulder blade, gently feeling for more knots. "And not just in your shoulders either, but all over your body," she continues, her hands drifting away from his shoulders and gliding down his arms, her fingers cresting with the swell of his muscles. She stops at his bicep, rubbing her hand over the muscle, which stiffens underneath the weight of her hand. Korra raises an eyebrow at him. "You do this weird thing where you lock up, blocking all of the energy paths in your body. It shows in your stance. Here, let me show you."

Dropping her hand from his arm, she shifts her position, moving to stand behind him. Her front isn't perfectly aligned with his back as she's mimicking his stance, but when she inhales, he can feel her hard planes of her stomach against the small of his back and when she talks, her breath stirs the hairs on the back of his neck in curious gusts of hot and cold.

This is the closest that they've ever been and Mako can't help but notice the way she smells like the oranges she eats with a childish zest that even he laughs about, despite the early hour of the morning. She radiates heat and hungrily, his body absorbs it; it sinks into every pore and pushes sweat to the surface of his skin, but when she raises her arm to align with his, her skin brushes his and he's not the only one sweating. He turns his head a fraction to the side, in an attempt to get a better look at her face, but the only thing he can see is the tip of her nose and the subtle pucker of her pink lips.

"Do you see the line of tension in my arm? How unnatural it looks?" She clenches her fist, which make the tendons in her arm snap to attention, straining against her skin. "You have the same problem." Uncurling her fingers, she lightly trails them along _his_ tendons until she reaches the dip of his elbow. He's ridiculously ticklish there, so he's unable to help himself from flinching ever so slightly as the tip of her finger teases the area. Like the blades of a pinwheel, her fingers fan out over his elbow, gripping loosely enough that she slides her hand down the length of his arm with ease, stopping only when her hand is covering his.

Mako tries to pull his hand from her grip, but she redoubles it. "What are you –"

"Did I say you could talk? No, I didn't, so please," she says, that sugary sweet tone instilled in her words once more. "Shut up."

He grumbles incoherently, but eventually acquiesces, if only because he can feel himself relaxing underneath her touch. It has absolutely nothing to do with the delicious warmth of her body and the way he can't seem to get enough of it or the way her skin feels like fire when it brushes his in quick strokes of what is surely pure brilliance. Not at all.

"Good," she hums, readjusting her grip on his hand, the pads of her fingers dancing across the back of his hand, just skimming his knuckles. "Now, don't resist, okay? Don't try to pull back like you just did. Just follow my lead. Can you do that?"

It doesn't take a genius to hear the hidden meaning in her words. They're both painfully aware of just how much being in control means to him, so when he nods silently, Korra does her best to not let the surprise register. He might not be able to see her face, but he can feel every move she makes just like she can feel the tattoo beat of his pulse, strong if not a little frantic, against her fingers.

Wordlessly, Korra continues, loosely twining their fingers. She swallows her gasp at the feel of his fingers within her own. She expected calluses, but the tissue isn't hard enough; it's raised and leathery, almost like a scar, and suddenly the reason for his gloves becomes a little clearer. It's not almost like a scar because it _is_ a scar, the remnants of a terrible burn, most likely from when he first started bending. She doesn't say anything as her thumb grazes the underside of his index finger in a slow stroke that simmers more than it burns.

Mako's own thumb skims over the back of her knuckles, admiring the texture of her curiously rough skin as he tries not to focus on the way her touch seems to sooth the aches in his fingers, working out the stiffness caused by his scars. They don't consume the entirety of his digits, merely canvas the lower rung of knuckles and the majority of his palms. Her thumb drags along the edges, leaving a bizarre coolness in its wake despite the heat she inspires within him.

As quickly as it happens, it's over, though she doesn't forget the way his scars felt as she lifts their joined hands, moving his arm as well as her own in a slow, fluid motion that's not unlike a wave. "Have you ever studied waterbending?" she whispers, catching him by surprise. He jumps, backing into her, but she holds firm, using her free hand and placing it on his waist for support. Even through the fabric of his tank top, he can feel the sweet heat of her palm. It's unbearable, but he bears it because what other choice does he really have?

Clearing his throat, Mako shakes his head. "N-no," he stammers, a flush spilling out onto his neck. He shouldn't be so flustered by the situation, by _her_, but he is and silently, he curses it. "I haven't. Toza tried to encourage us to do it, but…" he trails off.

"But you were too stubborn and Bolin was too lazy," finishes Korra with a breathy laugh that makes something akin to fire ignite in his stomach. "Why am I not at all surprised by that?" She shakes her head, amused. "While I can't speak for Toza," she continues, still moving their arms in unison. "I can say that knowing what I do about firebending and waterbending, I've become better at both when I combine their techniques – if that makes any sense."

"Not really," Mako admits, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "But at the same time," he adds at the sight of her downtrodden expression, "at the same time, it does." Readjusting his grip so that his hand is on top of hers, Mako mimics the movements she encouraged. "Because this? This feels really fluid – like water."

"That's because it is," Korra says. "And that's important to remember. You have to keep the energies in your body moving like the flow of water. If you stiffen up, the pathways get blocked and your bending isn't as good as it could be." The hand on his waist twitches, her fingers beating an incomprehensible beat into his skin as she talks. "Do you want to try it on your own now?"

Mako is surprised by the reluctance that wells within him and threatens to spill over. The thought of her warmth, of her closeness, vanishing isn't anguishing so much as it is disappointing. He didn't know that he wanted it, but now that he has it, he doesn't want it to go away. He likes it, probably a little _too_ much. He can always feign ignorance, mess up, and make her help him again, but Mako wants to impress her.

Well, not _impress_ her but –

No, yeah, he wants to impress her and deep down, he knows he should hate himself for it, but he doesn't.

"Yeah," he says, shaking her grip out of his own and stepping away from her. The moment the warmth is gone, he feels a little less confident, a little less vibrant – until he sees the encouraging look on her face. He shakes out his limbs, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, not entirely sure what to make of all that's happened in the last ten minutes. But when is he ever with Korra around?

Dropping into his stance, Mako remembers the feel of her touch and the way her hand seemed to mold to his muscles, easing out the tension and infusing them with that incredible and peculiar warmth. He does what he always does, drawing from his surroundings and becoming a part so integral that he is enveloped, a part of the whole and separate still. This time, when he calls upon the fire within him, it doesn't take much to ignite the flame because it's already been sparked.

Then he shifts, his body as fluid as the calm waters of a lazily trickling stream, and the fire bursts out of his palm with such vivacity, such strength, such _ease_, that it scorches the floorboards, chars the edges of the practice mats, and makes the air crackle with the sharp tang of burning ozone.

A loud, uncharacteristic whoop escapes Mako and before Korra knows what's happening, she's being swept up into the circle of his arms, her own pinned to her side, and it feels so incredible, knowing that she has helped him, that he's actually holding her so close, that she can't help laughing with him. His deep laughter rumbles in his chest, echoes in hers, and sends a shiver through her that reaches permeates and radiates so deeply, she knows she won't be able to shake it for days.

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><p><strong>AN: **Not sure how I feel about the ending, maybe I'll edit it, but it works for now. Feedback would be awesome! XOXOXO


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